


Cadenza

by Femme (femmequixotic)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, post-HBP, snaco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where else can I go?” Draco asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cadenza

The wind was cold against his thin face; tiny crystal shreds of ice stung his sallow cheeks and the tip of his hooked nose, melting against his warm skin and catching in the limp strings of dark hair hanging beneath the snow-flecked knitted wool cap shoved down over his thick eyebrows. Severus hunched into his heavy sheepskin coat, pulled the collar higher around his neck, and swore he would nevermore complain about winter in the Highlands.

If he ever saw it again.

His boots crunched across the snowy pavement; the dim lights of the shop windows mingled with the glow of the iron street lamps lining Ulitsa Barklaya--lamps that cast a yellowish glint on the snowdrifts against the buildings and warmed the pale faces of the crowds bustling home in the twilight. The shopping bag clutched tight in his fist bounced against his leg, and the loaf of bread and the tin of tea shifted across the rutabaga--nearly impossible to find, even after several days of searching, but a requirement for the damned potion he was studying--and the books and the three bottles of wine as he limped along, winding his way through the throng.

With a sharp sigh of impatience and a growled _prostite, izvinite,_ Severus sidestepped the woman at the newspaper kiosk window outside the metro station, a tart older Muggle clad in jeans under her thick black coat who gave him a frown as she shifted out of his way and continued her perusal of the paperback in her hands.

Severus picked up a pack of cigarettes and copies of _The Commersant_ and the _Moscow Times_, tossed a ten thousand rouble note on the counter and held out his hand for the change, given to him with a grunt and a nod from the man behind the mininscule counter.

Slipping the papers into the bag with the bread and the wine and the tea and the books and the rutabaga, he opened the pack of Pegas with one hand and shook one of the thin fags into his palm.

A turn down a narrow sidestreet across from Fili Park, and up a few crumbling stone steps outside a dull grey concrete building nearly as wide as it was tall, and Severus was inside, away from the wind and the cold and the snow. Always the bloody snow. He stopped in the dingy tiled foyer, lit only by a flickering overhead light set into the high ceiling, scowled and shook the white flakes from his hat and his coat. He was tired of the snow and the cold and the fear. He was tired of always looking over his shoulder, of always expecting someone--Potter or Lupin or Weasley or Macnair or Nott or, worse yet, that mad Lestrange cunt.

_Never a wise idea to bollocks up for both sides, Severus, old boy,_ he thought, for the hundredth thousandth time since June past. _Bound to end badly, most likely with you lying in a gutter somewhere._ But there'd been no other choice. From the moment Narcissa asked--the damned bitch had known bloody well he would do anything for the boy.

Weak fool that he was.

He almost wished they would come for him. Seven months of hiding in Moscow, seven months of certainty that each new morning would bring his discovery, seven months of ghosts watching him in his dreams. Severus often woke screaming now, from nightmares of one ghost in particular with unblinking eyes, oddly blank behind half-moon spectacles, accusing him in that quiet, gentle whisper, the lists of his crimes repeated over and over and over. Severus shuddered and closed his eyes as the entry door swung shut behind him with a clatter and rattle of glass in weathered wood.

Up five flights of stairs, and he could Apparate if he wished but each heavy step echoing in the stairwell, each painful twist of his scarred hip as he maneouvered up the steep stairs, seemed a small penance for his sins. Children passed him, silent and wide-eyed, shifting to the far side of the landings before dashing down the steps to their friends' flats, their laughter and whispers drifting up the stairs.

They called him Iron Arse, he knew. Never to his face, of course. And part of him--the part which he thought at times might still be alive in this godforsaken place--was wryly amused to be given a nickname worn proudly by Vyacheslav Molotov when Tom Riddle was yet a child. How very ironic, he thought, for the Dark Lord's fallen favourite to be compared to Stalin's hammer.

And then he was at the door to the flat and his rosewood wand was in his hand, tapping lightly against the iron doorknob. The wards shimmered for a moment then parted to let him through, reweaving themselves into an invisible net as he shut the door behind him.

Severus could hear voices in the sitting room, smell the spicy tang of Maria Igorevna's stew simmering on the fire, mutton and carrots and turnips and garlic.

"Masha?" he called out, setting the bag down on the kitchen table. The wretched girl had most certainly brought home yet another one of those damned fools from the Ministry whom he would be forced to Obliviate once more.

He rolled the cheap cigarette between still-chilled fingers, then tucked it between his lips. A tap of his wand to the tip and the sharp acrid taste of the tobacco curled over his tongue, and he coughed softly, breathing out a slow, thin stream of bitter smoke as he shrugged his coat off, hanging it and his hat on the rack behind the kitchen door. At last he toed off his wet boots and set them next to the rattling radiator to dry.

A young woman appeared in the doorway, frowning at him, her dark hair coiled neatly into a bun at the nape of her neck.

He raised an eyebrow at his goddaughter. Karkaroff's brat; he'd always told the fool he was the worst choice for that particular so-called honour but they had been twenty and foolish and certain of their own immortality and he had barely had to see the girl over the years, only reply to her ridiculous letters and send a book every birthday.

And make use of her foolish, sentimental attachment when convenient.

"Not in the flat," Maria said, and plucked the fag from his fingers and ground it into an ashtray. "I can't bear the stench."

"Damned cow."

"You've company," she said quietly, looking at him with those dark eyes that were identical to her father's. There were moments when he was certain she knew he was responsible for Igor's death. He always believed it would be she who betrayed him--she who had the most reason to if she discovered the truth.

Severus tensed, his fingers tightening on his wand. His stomach twisted. "Who?"

She smiled faintly at him. "Go on. He's waiting." She picked up a coat draped over one of the rickety chairs at the table. "I'll be back later."

Stepping into the tiny sitting room filled with mismatched chairs and rugs, he heard the door click shut behind him, but his eyes were on the young man squatting before the wall of bookshelves, pushing a stray lock of white-blond hair behind his ears as he studied the worn gilt lettering peeling off the leather bindings.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, lowering his wand.

The boy stood, a book open in his hand, and he set a glass on the shelf, half-filled with vodka--_his_ vodka, Severus noted--and Severus couldn't help but observe the way the wool trousers slid over his narrow hips.

"You kept the book I gave you that Christmas." He looked at Severus with a small smile playing across his lips. "How long ago was it?"

"Your third year, as you know full well, particularly as you just read the inscription." Severus took the book from him and set it on the sidetable with a thud. "And I kept it because it was useful. No other reason. What are you doing here, Draco?"

Draco looked about the small room. It was cluttered with books and photographs and portraits and idiotic furbelows crammed into myriad shelves lining the floral-papered walls. A long, worn, tweedy lounge stretched in front of the tiny hearth, a green and brown and yellow afghan draped over one arm. Draco raised an eyebrow, a sneer wrinkling his nose. "Not quite you, other than the books, but we've not much choice in hiding, do we?" He slid a finger over a black lacquer box, brightly painted with red-gold flowers and berries and firebirds. "Karkarova let me in."

"That is not what I mean and you damn well know it."

A moment's silence, and then Draco touched him, the sneer fading as his fingers curled around Severus's wrist and stroked the warm skin underneath the linen sleeve of his shirt. "Where else can I go?"

"You were to stay in Rome as we discussed-"

"I didn't like Rome." Draco's fingers slid through his. "Horrid city."

"There is nothing wrong with Rome," Severus snapped, but his fingers twisted through Draco's. "You were safe with Tourbani; he took the vow to protect you--"

"You weren't there."

Severus knew he should pull away from that touch, from the reason he had fled Italy to Moscow alone.

It was mad. It was wrong. He would not do it again.

The boy was barely out of leading strings--he was--had been--his student-he had vowed--

He licked his thin lips. "You have to leave. Now."

But Draco's palm was warm against his and soft and he stepped closer and Severus could feel Draco's breath ghost over his jaw in a familiar caress, and with a shaky sigh, Draco's mouth brushed over Severus's, once and twice and on the third tiny kiss, Severus knew he was lost.

Again.

"You didn't answer my owls," Draco said softly, his lips moving across Severus's. "Seven months of them and I wrote nearly every day."

"No." Severus's hand hovered over Draco's cheek, trembling. As he breathed out he could taste Draco's breath; he could taste the chocolate that Draco could never resist and the mint and the vodka as Draco's arms wrapped around his neck. He dragged his calloused fingertips along that soft cheek, feeling the prickly rasp of stubble against his own rough skin and he leaned forward with a quiet huff into the soft corner of Draco's lips. "It was better if I didn't."

"How terribly stupid of you," Draco whispered and tangled his fingers in Severus's hair.

A slow slide of tongues together, of warm breath mingling in a single gasp, and Severus's hands were on Draco's waist, pulling him closer, his fingers remembering, despite his mind's protests, the fit of Draco's hips, the narrow planes and the sharp jut of bones.

They stumbled together and Severus was on the chesterfield, looking up into heated grey eyes as Draco pressed him onto his back, kissing him hungrily, in sharp quick bites to the corner of Severus's mouth, to his thin bottom lip. Severus cupped Draco's face between his hands, his mouth hard against Draco's as he kissed him breathless, as his tongue dragged over Draco's, dragged over his teeth and his mouth and his throat until Severus leaned forward again, catching Draco's bottom lip and sucking it as his hands slid through Draco's hair, pulling and twisting it with long, stained fingers.

"Missed you," Draco said into the curve of Severus's jaw. "So much," he breathed, pressing his hips down, his cock hard through the thin wool of his trousers.

"Draco." Severus rolled his hips beneath the boy, and Draco laughed as their cocks slid against each other, laughed because he knew what Severus wanted and his fingers were already on Severus's buttons, pulling open his coat and his shirt to press kisses along Severus's collarbone and down the concave dip of his chest, over sparse, soft-coarse black hair and over warm skin scarred with thick white ridges and over hard brown nipples.

Draco was shirtless and straddling him and Severus's yellowed hands slid across pale ivory skin, smoothed over faint pink Sectumsempra scars that crisscrossed Draco's narrow chest and flat belly.

"You've healed well," Severus said quietly, tracing a narrow ridge of puckered pink skin that curved around Draco's navel and remembering a rough, quick kiss in a curtained infirmary bed. Not his first crime. Nor his most unforgiveable. Still...

Draco watched as Severus's fingers plucked at the buttons of his trousers. "You're thinking about that night."

"I thought he'd killed you." Severus twisted the last button free. "So much blood-and you were so pale. I could have tortured the damned fool there."

"I'm still here." Draco caught Severus's hand and pressed his palm to the smooth, warm curve of cockhead peeking through his loosened flies. Draco's breath hitched and he rocked forward onto his knees, grinding his cock against their fingers. "Although I wish I hadn't slapped you when you kissed--" He broke off with a quick moan and slid his palm over the back of Severus's wrist.

"I would agree." Severus curled his long fingers around Draco's cock, pushing the trousers back with his thin, angular knuckles. "As I recall you lost Slytherin House ten points for that particular display of pique."

Draco leaned closer, his hair tumbling forward in a silver cascade that cast shadows over Severus's cheek, and kissed him. "How terribly stupid of me."

Severus smiled faintly against Draco's mouth and rubbed his thumb across stretched foreskin, a familiar sweep of skin over skin that caused Draco to hiss and swear and fumble in his trouser pockets.

And then Draco had pulled away and his hands were on Severus's trousers, tugging them over his too-thin hips and Severus's pants followed.

Oil dribbled down the crease of Severus's thigh and he lifted his hips and Draco's fingers were slick as the oil spread over his balls, catching in the crisp black hair, and then beneath them as Draco lifted his sac with an oily palm and stroked and circled fingertips across warm, aching skin and Severus spread his legs, pressing one foot against the back of the lounge and one on the floor as he arched up against Draco's hands.

"He shouldn't have done this." Draco traced a finger over a wide swathe of pinkened scars curving over Severus's hip. "Not to you."

Severus shifted his hips, ignoring the dull ache in the joint. "Better I be punished than you."

"I hated him for that, you know. Hurting you when it was my failure." Draco dropped the tiny phial of pale gold liquid on the floor and it rolled with a clickety-click and clatter across the scratched parquet. Draco's finger was stroking Severus's hole and it dipped in and Severus hissed as Draco twisted his fingertip deeper, then pulled it out. "And I hated you for letting him."

"I promised-"

"Idiot."

Severus barely sneered at the brat's impudence, affectionate or not, because Draco's tongue was there then with slow, easy licks across puckered skin and sharp teeth against the flat plane of Severus's arse and soft lips brushed through his oiled crease. Severus pressed his head into the corner of the lounge, his shoulders rolling into the cushions and his fingers and toes digging into worn, rough upholstery as he pushed into each careful lick, and he swore because somehow, somewhere Draco had learned this wonderful thing and no one--not even Lucius--had ever kissed him like this.

He breathed out, slowly, carefully, his palm sliding over the back of the lounge, the tweed scraping against his sweaty skin and catching on short, well-chewed fingernails.

Draco kissed Severus's arse, sucking lightly around that hole, opening and closing for his mouth and his tongue, and with a soft cry Severus shuddered, his cock hard and curved against his flat stomach and he couldn't stop himself from touching his shaft, from running his fingertips across the ridge, under the head, tiny strokes to match the way Draco was eating him-there was nothing else to call that perfect rhythm of lick and suck and suck and lick--and then with a twist of his tongue, Draco was inside of him, licking around the ring of muscle.

Severus shouted; his fingers clenched the smooth, damp, hot curve of his head. His palm was wet, sticky and he rubbed it over the sleek skin, felt his thumb dip into the slit at the tip and his breath caught and his legs shook and Draco's tongue was inside of him and Draco was gasping against his skin.

Draco's slick palm curled around his own pink-red cock, small and hard and framed by two plackets of black wool that grazed the sharp angle of his pale hip, shifting as his hand moved quick and tight around that perfect beautiful cock.

"Fuck me," Severus gasped. He could remember exactly how Draco had felt inside of him each time they had done this before, how he had moved. He arched his neck and moaned, thinking of how Draco had taken him the first time, in the bedroom at Spinners End, looking down at him with eyes wide as Severus had pulled him in deeper, telling him in murmured words that made Draco tremble above him what it felt like to fuck and to be fucked, what it felt like to be spread wide, to be taken, to burn and ache until one's entire existence was nothing without each thrust of that lovely, perfect cock lifting one's hips, pressing deep, sliding hard and fast and slick until even breathing seemed a ridiculous thing to consider.

It had been so long and there were so few people he trusted to touch him like this. He'd spent hundreds of thousands of roubles to be sucked and jerked and rubbed and still it wasn't the same. He'd been to the baths and to the gloryholes and he'd once, after leaving the theatre, behind a trash bin in an alley off Tryokhprudny Pereulok, kissed a white-blond boy with silver grey eyes who, for twenty thousand roubles more, whispered his name in accented English while Severus came in hot spurts over small, pale hands.

He had hated every moment of it.

"Fuck me," Severus said again, roughly this time, pulling on Draco's hair. "Damn it, I need your cock-" He swore again, his hips bucking upwards, and twisted his fingers in the pale silver hair spilling over his hands, his thighs. "Too long-"

Eyes glazed and too-bright, Draco slid over him in a whisper of skin and wool and shoved Severus's shirt off one arm, burying his face in the curve of his armpit and the biting the soft skin at the top of Severus's ribs before drawing his mouth open and hot and wet across a thin, sloped shoulder, across the shivering tendons in Severus's arched throat, up which he scraped a pink-white trail of delicate fingernails. Severus caught his fingers and pulled them to thin lips that sucked down the pale curve of his palm to his wrist, where sharp teeth grazed the skin barely covering blue veins.

"Fuck," Draco breathed, shaking over Severus.

Their fingers slid together.

He kissed Severus, then, and Severus could taste himself on Draco's tongue, heavy and coppery, and from the corner of his eye he could see the warm red-orange flicker of the fire in the hearth across the room as Draco's hair fell forward, shrouding them both as his mouth opened to Severus's tongue.

Draco pushed into him, a quick, rough thrust that lifted Severus's arse from the cushions.

He held still for a moment, his mouth still lingering on Severus's in a slow, easy, careful kiss, then another and another, until Severus groaned and rocked upwards, hooking one leg over Draco's thigh.

"Yes." Draco whispered into his mouth, his breath warm over Severus's lips. "Tell me what you want."

"I believe I have, Mr Malfoy." Severus slid a rough foot down the back of Draco's calf; his callouses snagged on the wool of Draco's trousers. He tightened his arse around Draco's cock, eliciting a sharp hiss. "Now do it."

Draco pressed his hips against Severus's; his cock shifted almost imperceptibly deeper, but Severus's balls jerked and his back arched and his thighs trembled around Draco's hips. "Like that?"

"Wretch." Severus gasped and moved against Draco. "I want you to fuck me with your cock," he murmured into Draco's collarbone, breathing in the scent of sweat and want and vodka. "And I damn well want you to do it _now_."

A sharp hiss, and Draco began to thrust into him slowly, his body curled over Severus's, his trousers sliding down his flushed, damp thighs, his breath hot gasps against Severus's ear as they moved together, their hips undulating against one another. Severus was stretched wide with each rock of Draco's body into his, and for the first time in months the world was set right and he wrapped his legs around Draco and shoved up against him with a sharp groan, his fingers digging into Draco's hips as he pulled him deeper.

"Severus, Merlin, I'm going to-" Draco broke off with a sharp cry, rolling his hips into Severus's as his arms shook.

And then Draco was fucking him in quick, arrhythmic thrusts, head thrown back and mouth open, flushed neck stretched long and tense and marked pink-red by Severus's teeth and tongue and mouth, and he was moaning Severus's name and his sweat-curled hair caught on the corner of his wet mouth and it glinted and shimmered gold in the firelight and Severus had never seen anyone more beautiful as Draco came with a sharp cry and a rough grind of his hips into Severus's arse.

Severus reached for his cock, hard against his stomach, but Draco pushed his fingers away with trembling hands and, sliding out of Severus with a quiet hiss, he slid down and took him into his mouth as his fingers pushed into the sticky slickness of Severus's hole.

"Oh, God-"Severus's hips bucked when Draco's fingers pressed deep inside of him and when his tongue circled the head of Severus's cock and slid down the underside as his mouth sucked gently and Severus's fingers twisted in Draco's hair again, pulling hard and he knew it must have hurt from the sharp hiss that vibrated around his cock, but he didn't care because Draco's mouth was on his bollocks.

He was sucking and lapping as his fingers fucked Severus, curling inside of him to find that nub and then Severus was fucking that warm, tight mouth in quick thrusts, grunting and pulling Draco further onto his cock. He didn't even know what he was saying, nor did he give a damn, but he could hear Draco's name over and over again as his hips lifted up from the lounge and his thighs trembled and he shouted Merlin only knew what as spurts of hot semen filled Draco's mouth and he melted against the cushions, heavy and languid, with Draco's kisses light against his skin.

*********************

The clock in the hallway chimed the quarter-hour.

The snow was still falling steadily, a white-grey mist in the faint streetlamps below; Severus leaned against the open window, watching the drifts pile over the sill. He took a slow drag from his cigarette and blew a thin stream of acrid smoke past the frosted pane. It twisted in a gust of icy wind, then scattered, fusing with the falling snow.

He watched as two shadows shifted against the wall beside the street lamp, watched as a flash of trainer whisked into view, then disappeared. Severus knocked a bit of ash off the end of the fag and rolled his eyes.

Only so much an Invisibility Cloak could hide.

You'd think the damned fool would have learned that by now. Then again, Potter never had been known for his subtlety.

Or discretion.

"When did you start this?" Draco pulled the cigarette from Severus's fingers and lifted it to his lips, inhaling. He made a face and coughed out a puff of grey smoke, wiping his mouth with the back of his pale hand. "It's horrible."

Severus scowled at him and took the cigarette back. He took another drag, then, exhaling, ground the cigarette into the grimy, icy windowsill and flicked the butt into the street below. "Before you were born."

"You never, before, not even the month we were in Berlin after-" Draco hesitated, then shrugged, staring out the window. "After that night."

Severus shivered and pulled his shirt closed, fingers working at the tiny buttons. "I gave them up briefly." He snorted. "Albus's insistence. Not suitable for the wretched little beasts, of course."

Draco gave him a long look. "And when you came here?"

"It passes the time." Severus stepped away from the window, shutting it behind him. He walked back into the kitchen and reached for his boots.

"We've not much time and there's something I need to tell--what are you doing?"

Severus sighed and sat in one of the rickety chairs and pushed his feet into his boots. "They will be here shortly, I assume."

Draco stopped in the doorway, half-hidden in the shadows. "Who?"

"Potter, for one." Severus laced the boots tightly, then frowned down at them; the sheepskin inside was still slightly damp. "I am not a fool, Draco."

"How-" Draco stepped into the kitchen, the light from the wall sconce flickered across his stricken face. "Severus-"

Severus stood and shrugged on his coat. "Your Occlumency weakens after you fuck," he said bluntly. "You should take more care. Not that Potter has any skill in that regard. Nevertheless." He looked at Draco, eyes dark. "You reveal far too much of yourself in bed, Draco."

Draco was silent a moment, his arms wrapped tight around his chest. "Only with you," he said finally, meeting Severus's gaze. "Potter's only using me to find you, you realise." He laughed bitterly. "And to humiliate me in the process."

"And you?" Severus stroked a thumb over the knobbly knit of his hat.

Draco bit his lip. "It keeps me alive," he said softly. "Letting him-he hates me and having me like this-- Father's dead, Mother's dead, I've no one else but you." He stepped closer. "I don't want to die yet and if he thinks I'll give you to him--" He trailed off and looked away. "He gave me a choice when he found me."

"What about Tourbani-"

"He's dead." Draco pressed his lips together. "Potter and his little band of Gryffindors haven't a plethora of scruples any longer." He tugged at his shirt cuffs, rolling the ever-so-slightly frayed edges between his fingertips. "Not when it comes to finding you, that is. They rather hate you."

Severus snorted and strode into the sitting room. "Not that I entirely disagree with that particular emotion; nevertheless, I should rather us both remain alive for the moment..." Stooping, he picked up the small phial of lubricant next to the rug. He twisted it between his fingers, working the silver ring from the stopper. "Where did Masha go?"

"She doesn't know about this." Draco watched, rubbing his bare toe over the frayed edge of the rug. "If that's what you mean." He glanced at the clock and caught his bottom lip again between sharp, white teeth. "I told Potter to be here at midnight." He shifted, slid his hands over his elbows. "I wanted some time with you," he admitted softly.

Severus slipped the silver ring onto his finger. "What will you tell him?"

"I don't know." Draco smiled faintly. "That you overpowered me?"

"Little fool." Severus ran his knuckle over Draco's cheek; his fingers curled around Draco's hip. "Where does the Portkey go?"

Draco wrapped his arms around Severus's neck. "I don't know that either. I thought it better if I didn't, in case--" He pressed his forehead into Severus's shoulder with a quiet sigh. "Somewhere that wasn't Britain, I told the man."

"I sincerely hope I do not find myself splinched."

Draco gave him another small smile then glanced towards the door, his worry evident. "Potter doesn't know about it. Obviously."

"I would hope not." Severus kissed Draco, a languorous twist of lips and tongue. "Whatever he does to you, however he touches you--" Severus pulled away; his face tightened. "You are mine."

"I know. Always." Draco held him close and breathed in, his fingers twisting in Severus's lank hair. There was a sharp thud against the door, a rattling of the wards. "Can the idiot not read a damned watch? He's five minutes early." Draco scowled. "How very Potter." He curled his fingers around Severus's and rubbed his thumb over the ring. "It should be almost time; he was to set it early. I'll hold the fools off until--"

"I'll find you. When I--"

"I know." Draco pushed him away. "Go."

Severus stepped back; he could already feel the sharp tingle of magic deep within the ring. He raised his wand, pointing it at Draco. It was all he could do to protect him.

He took a deep breath.

"Stupefy!"

And Draco flew backwards in a jet of red light, slamming into the wall just as the wards gave way on the door and Potter burst in with Lupin at his side and Potter raised his wand, his face twisted in a hatred that took Severus's breath away and shouted "Avada--"

But with a sudden jerk and a twist of his stomach, the ground disappeared, and the curse exploded beside him in a burst of green and the room spun into a swirling kaleidoscope, and the last thing he saw before the rush of wind and colour swept him away was Draco's pale face, silver-gilt hair tumbling over his closed eyes.


End file.
